As out-of-practice as January may have felt that afternoon, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed returning to the limelight. Of course, she adored the outfits that Xavier chose for her, and she appreciated spending time with the other models in the show. It was her first social interaction with anyone but Xavier since the scandal broke.
At the after-party, Paris’ elite turned out to celebrate Xavier’s latest and most creative line to date. January, though, seemed to be the star of the show. A line of actresses, models and the world’s wealthiest women formed behind her as she ordered a well-deserved mojito at the bar. However, it was the amused smile and the warm brown eyes of the man sitting beside her that caught January’s attention.
“Anyone ever tell you how luscious that beauty mark is?” his rather gruff, French accent rumbled as she moved to lift her drink to her lips.
The command of his tone nearly brought January to her knees, but she remained calm and took the time to sip her drink while she thought of an answer.
“Never quite so boldly,” she said with an upturn to her red lips. Attraction seemed instant between them, and it was just fun to finally have the chance to flirt again.
She began to wonder who he was and why he was there. Perhaps, his wife had dragged him, but January didn’t see a ring. Maybe he was interested in Xavier’s debut of his men’s line, but this man seemed a little too roguish to wear Xavier’s creations of color and fabric. Dressed in a sharp black wool jacket and crisp white shirt, he was fabulously understated in that hot, French way.
When he reached out and took her hand to bring to his lips, Xavier scuttled closer in time to catch them.
“Janvier…there are reporters in the pressroom who would like to speak with you.” Xavier always called her by her name in French when matters were urgent. Then he turned to her would-be suitor, who still held her hand. “Etienne, it’s good to see you.”
The man nodded. Apparently, they were acquaintances. She hoped that Etienne wasn’t gay. “Good show,” he complimented Xavier and then turned to January. “Great party.”
“Ah, merci, monsieur.” Awkwardly, Xavier stepped between them to break their chain of touch. “Glad you enjoyed.”
“Oh, ouais…” Etienne’s eyes clung to a grinning January like a wet t-shirt. “Ouais, ouais…ouais…”
As Xavier playfully pulled her away, he babbled, “Have your agent call her agent.”
“What the hell did you do that for?” she asked once they were out of earshot. “And who the hell is he?”
“You don’t know?” Xavier’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “He’s one of the biggest singers in all of France. Etienne Marçeaux. All the women want to fuck him. Apparently, so do you…”
“What? I just…we just…”
“He’s into the scene, you know.”
Eyes brightening, she turned to face him. “Really?”
“Vraiment,” Xavier mocked her with a pat on her ass. “Now, move it, Mademoiselle. You have work to do.”
When the reviews rolled in, however, the praise resounded from the celebrity word on the street to the fashion magazines of the world. Vogue and Elle both fought to have January on their covers, dressed in BDSM-inspired fashions from Xavier. Of course, she’d have to give her first interview since the now infamous photos appeared, but just the positive feedback from the show gave her the confidence she needed.
So caught up in the madness of her life, January didn’t realize that another phenomenon had broken. A round of applause broke out for her in the pressroom. However, once she took to the microphone, every reporter in the room seemed to have the same question for her. Since she was the expert on BDSM, they wanted to know what she thought of a new trilogy of books that women around the globe just couldn’t put down.
Since she hadn’t read the books, January said she couldn’t comment. However, her image seemed to lose its tarnish that evening. The public had renewed its fascination with her life and career.
From shunned harlot to the darling of the kink community, January Gallimore had made her comeback.
Within days, her agent began to field requests from press around the world, asking for her input and thoughts on the books. And by the end of the month, she’d given more satellite interviews than she would have for a movie press tour. Everyone had an opinion, but they wanted the reality straight from January’s pouty red lips.
And the media fed on her interviews. She presented BDSM with her witty sense of humor, and she discussed fact versus fiction with expertise. She was the perfect woman to question about this new sexual revolution, and even her agent was sure that she’d work in films again—although she shut down an early call for actresses to portray the heroine of the books in the movie.
In the meanwhile, Etienne procured her number. He was on a break from his tour of France, and he wanted to ask her out.
Much to her surprise, he picked her up in his SMART Car and drove to one of the outer neighborhoods of Paris. Immediately, he wowed her with his grounded nature. Etienne was nothing like the other celebrities she dated or fucked. He paid close attention to her, even while she chatted nervously.
Heading through one of Paris’ less glamorous areas, Belleville, January wondered if he had kidnapped her to steal away to some dungeon, but Etienne saw the questioning look tainted with fear in her eyes.
“You know Eddy Mitchell? He’s what we call a Dinosaur of French rock. He grew up here,” Etienne told her as they cruised past an entire block of Middle Eastern restaurants. “And so did I…”
Coincidentally, he played the older singer’s cover of “Tell It Like It Is” softly in the background. Even in French, the song lyrics resonated, and January wondered if this was a message to her. One thing she’d learned quickly about Etienne, there was always a soundtrack to everything he did in life.
At that point, January realized she had nothing to fear with him. He was just being real, and that’s more than any woman could have asked for on a first date. Like her, he grew up with little more than big dreams. She could relax and maybe enjoy the ride a bit.
“And you, chérie,” he began. “Your parents owned a farm?”
Straightening her silk scarf at her neck, January shook out her mane of black hair. “You’ve done your research.”
“It is very hard to escape you these days,” he chuckled. “Your face is everywhere.”
Then, she pulled her scarf over her head. “Oh, what have you read about me?”
“A few things,” he said contemplatively. “But I think there is so much more to know.”
“Well, Xavier told me a few things about you, too.” January waited for his response. The pure burn of sexual adrenaline seared between them in that oh-so compact car. Just once in her life, though, she longed for more than sex.
“Ah, putain de merde,” he mumbled. “He is a little piece of shit. We will discuss that later.”
From that moment on, a spirited tension would exist between Xavier and Etienne in January’s little world.
As he maneuvered the car into the smallest parking space she’d ever seen, he minded her through his aviator sunglasses. “Come, ma belle,” and he offered his hand. “Go on a journey with me.”
That was an offer January couldn’t refuse.
Like most Parisians, he took such pride in the city. Back in his old stomping grounds, he played the perfect tour guide. In fact, he’d parked at the top of the hill so that she could appreciate the views from above as they descended through Buttes Chaumont park.
And what views there were to be seen. She could understand why this was his favorite spot in all of Paris. Seeing the city, literally at their feet, left her breathless. As they stumbled upon the Temple de la Sibylle, the open-air gazebo afforded an expansive look at the hills of Montmartre and Sacre Coeur. January felt like a tourist who’d accidentally veered off from the beaten path.
It was at that moment when she realized that Etienne held her hand along the uneven ground as if to tell her silent
ly that he would protect her. She continued to pretend that she hadn’t even realized they were touching. The second she acknowledged him, she knew she’d be in trouble.
As they stepped up to take a closer look at the skyline, she giggled.
“What is so funny, Janny?”
No one ever called her “Janny” before, and she loved his pronunciation. She knew then that she could get used to the French treatment.
“Oh, I’m just thinking back to an old trip here when I got out at the wrong Metro station in Montmartre,” she reminisced. “I was looking for some tiny museum, and I tried to ask for directions from an older lady. She pointed to the steep stairs and told me, ‘Montez, montez…et montez.’”
“Climb, climb…and climb,” he repeated in English. “That is cute.”
“So are you, Monsieur Marçeaux…”
Abandoning all fear and reservation, she closed her eyes and allowed him to plunder her open lips that ached for a kiss just like that one. And he still held her hand.
With care and delicacy, he gripped her shoulder to brace her—from the dizzying altitude and from her own dwindling perception of reality. His lips were soft but clearly commanding, coaxing her to move her mouth in rhythm with his own. She knew that if she opened her eyes, she just might faint. However, she allowed the kiss to linger as she took his breath as her own.
“Just open your eyes slowly. I am holding you.”
Under his spell, January obeyed, and she found those big brown eyes that she felt so compelled to trust minding her with not only passion but also affection.
“I hope there’s more where that came from,” January thought out loud.
“Ah, there shall be,” he assured her. “For now, I promised we would explore.”
Step by careful step, they meandered down the hillside. Etienne wished that he could show her every inch of that park, but one afternoon wasn’t enough. January suggested that they would just have to make another trip or two, which met his big, lopsided grin.
Eventually, they followed the path to a grotto waterfall where they sat down and listened to the sounds of the cascading flow. She pinned her hair up and relaxed beside him.
Etienne discussed his life with brutal honesty. He had been divorced for two years, and he hadn’t really dated anyone seriously. He focused on his music, and he spent the rest of his time with his two young daughters, aged eight and six. His life, he told her, stopped when the girls needed their Papa.
In turn, she confided about her brush with scandal. Etienne was quick to admire her candor with him and with the rest of the world. She’d faced those secrets in her career, whereas he had not.
Etienne also knew that he had to address the elephant that had been lumbering beside them all afternoon. He confirmed that he had practiced BDSM for years—and he was ten years her senior. However, he preferred to play only in the elitist of circles—which is how he came to become acquaintances with Xavier. They were both members of an exclusive club where well-heeled members of society congregated to fulfill their filthiest fantasies.
January worried that the public might make assumptions if they were to start dating, while Etienne joked that a new image might bolster his career with the housewives reading the translation of those books.
As the afternoon ended, he felt comfortable enough to move away from her hand and to settle his arm around the small of her back. They stopped for a quick bite at an Algerian restaurant he knew so well that he called the owner by his first name.
It was dark by the time they made it back to the car. Almost shyly, Etienne explained that he and his ex-wife were still sorting out property in the divorce, so he stayed at the Plaza Athénée in between his traveling and touring.
January really didn’t expect to fuck that night, but she was already far too aroused to deny him. Decidedly, she chose to allow the evening to play out as it would.
An unexpected twist in their plans, however, met them in the hotel lobby.
Two curly-haired, little girls with familiar brown eyes ran toward them before January and Etienne even had the chance to clear the revolving door.
“Papa!”
Getting down on his knees, Etienne didn’t miss a beat, and he opened his arms wide. “Simone…Sabine…ça va?” He looked up to January with an apologetic gaze. “I had no idea.”
“Well, Etienne, if you’d answer your phone…” A woman stepped forth from the crowded lobby with her hands stuck in her raincoat pockets. She was nearly as tall as Etienne with light brown hair and greenish brown eyes.
Their conversation continued in French. From her minimal understanding of the language, January surmised that the woman was his ex-wife. He’d either forgotten a visit or confused his plans for the evening. Regardless of the words spoken, January could see the wrath that furrowed his ex-wife’s face.
“January…this is my…former…wife….” Etienne stood on nervous feet while the girls danced around him. “Alice, meet January.”
Etienne had already admitted to January that they’d broken up because they disagreed on lifestyle. In fact, it was Alice’s affair with a high-ranking investment banker that ultimately destroyed their marriage. Alice craved normalcy, and she had nothing close to stability with Etienne. Of course, he provided well, but he was never home to care for the girls—or for Alice.
Revelation suddenly replaced the anger on Alice’s face, and then amusement began to settle. “Aren’t you the one who wrote that book?”
Beneath her heavy porcelain make-up, January could feel herself sweating. “Not exactly.”
Pointing his finger almost in Alice’s face, Etienne said, “That is none of your concern.”
Their daughters were far too engrossed in their play to catch on to the adult conversation unfolding. The concierge engaged them in a quick game of tag through the lobby. While most of the guests passing through scowled, the staff would never reprimand Monsieur Marçeaux ’s children. He was a national treasure—an icon. And he was their best customer.
For the most part, Sabine and Simone ignored their parents when they argued.
“Still won’t give that up, will you, Etienne?” Alice continued and shook her head. “Well, considering that I’m flying to Zurich in the morning, I doubt you’ll see any action tonight.”
Etienne had mentioned that Alice was some sort of banking executive. January guessed that she had an unplanned business trip, hence her unpredicted drop-off of the girls.
“You can make your exit now,” he said and turned his ex-wife to face the entrance.
“She cannot stay here tonight,” Alice said quickly. “Not unless I approve. And I do not.”
“She’s not staying, but she deserves a proper goodbye.”
Little did January realize at that moment, while caught between two scorned lovers, that she and Alice would eventually become friends. For the sake of his custody, though, January knew that she had to go.
“I’ll just be leaving, too,” January stepped in.
“No, you will not,” he ordered. “Goodnight, Alice. Have a wonderful trip. Make some money. Close a deal, or whatever you do. And Janny, you come with me. Simone…! Sabine…!” When he whistled, the girls came running. “Bon nuit,” he nodded toward the concierge and then ushered all three of his ladies into the elevator.
“Mes choux, this is January,” he said, making a quick introduction.
“Nice to meet you.”
“It is a pleasure.”
January didn’t know which little hand to shake first, so she took them both at one time. At least they seemed kinder than their mother.
“Are you staying over for a slumber party?” Simone asked January.
Eyes darting to Etienne, January answered, “No, I’ll be going shortly.”
“She’s just coming up to help me tuck you in,” Etienne explained. “Is that okay?”
“Oui, Papa!”
Loaded down with their little suitcases, he unlocked the door. Inside, January found a swanky livin
g room with views of the Eiffel Tower. The girls, though, were oblivious.
“Beautiful,” January whispered. “We’ve shared some exquisite panoramas today.”
“Yes, we have, Janny,” he agreed.
Sabine and Simone, though, were quite intrigued by their surprise visitor. Etienne didn’t hide his impatience when they asked a flurry of questions—from how she met their father to why she spoke to him in English. They were, though, quick to tell January that they’d been studying English since they were in pre-school. Somehow, they communicated in a mix of both languages, and the girls gave their father their tentative approval of his new friend.
“Come on. It is pajama time.” Etienne had to get them to bed. He still had a few things to say to January. “Make yourself comfortable, please.”
As he gestured toward the late nineteenth-century couch, he hurried behind his daughters to the suite’s bedroom.
Suddenly, January felt like she needed a drink. And a stiff one, at that. She had no intentions of even kissing him yet—let alone meeting his children and his ex-wife. Rather than absorbing the beauty of this five-star hotel, she took several deep breaths to calm herself down.
At least his children seemed forgiving. In fact, they didn’t even seem to care that their father brought a mysterious woman back to his hotel with him. January wondered if he did this often. She didn’t want to become another notch on his bedpost. January liked this guy.
When the gentle strum of a guitar began to play, she allowed herself to relax a little. As she lost herself in what seemed to be a lullaby, she realized that the music echoed from the bedroom, and quietly, she got up to take a look.
Nestled in the king-sized bed, Simone and Sabine snuggled up next to each other, while their father played along on his acoustic guitar and sang to them. Their eyes never left Etienne as he strummed them into slumber, and just as they dozed off, he placed the guitar back in its case beside him and turned around.
SMITTEN (Paris Après Minuit) Page 3
